


Curtain Call

by bea_bickerknife



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Gen, Non-graphic depictions of cane-based violence, One (1) sneaky Anna Akhmatova reference, Revenge, Shameless use of film noir aesthetic, Villainous monologuing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bea_bickerknife/pseuds/bea_bickerknife
Summary: Someone's waiting for him at the stage door, but it's not an autograph she's after.





	Curtain Call

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, I own none of the characters in this work, nor do I derive any remuneration from its posting.

He’s the last to leave, as always, and that suits Georgina just fine. Unlike him, she finds that she does her best work without an audience.

The heavy _thud_ of the door reverberates in her chest. _That’s your cue_. “I know what you did to her,” she remarks almost casually, still hidden for the moment in the shadows outside the glow of the sign reading _Stage Door_.

Olaf stops in his tracks. Exhilaration melts instantly into suspicion as he flicks his beady gaze first right, then left, only to find himself apparently alone. “Who’s there?”

 _Enter, stage left_. There’s a clicking sound on the cracked pavement as Georgina steps out into the pool of light, blocking his only means of escape from the blind alley. Even if she’d wanted to obscure her face, there would've been no disguising her cane, and the fear in his eyes is worth the risk.

“You’re dead,” he blurts.

“Funny.” She takes another step toward him. “I could have sworn that was _my_ line.”

He seems frozen. “I drowned you.”

“Well, going by the front page of this morning’s Lachrymose Ledger, your technique seems to have improved since then.” Condescension creeps into her voice and cold fury rises in her chest. “It wasn’t enough to shove her over the edge, was that it? Decided to throw some _leeches_ into the mix this time, make a matched set?” She’s within striking distance now and he scrambles backward, but the heel of his boot catches on the step up to the door and sends him sprawling. “Drowning women when you can’t use them anymore,” Georgina sneers down at him. “It’s a nasty habit, Olaf. Even for you.”

“ _You_ were a nasty habit,” he spits.

“Still can’t take an insult lying down, I see.” A humorless smirk twists the corners of her mouth as she surveys his prone form. “Well. Figuratively, anyway.”

“Still can’t get over your exes, I see,” mimics Olaf, a caricature of pity etched into every feature. “ _I_ know how to make a clean break. _You_ , on the other hand, crawled out of whatever den you’ve been skulking in for the past decade and spent your precious time tracking me down and lurking outside the headquarters of my…theatrical endeavors with that ridiculous _stage prop_.” She shifts her grip further down the cane, but he’s too far gone in his monologue to notice. “All because you’ve deluded yourself into thinking you’re going to avenge some stuffy grammar fanatic who never even lo – ”

The first blow knocks him out cold.

The second shatters a rib.

The third lands with a resounding _crack_ over the weakest point of his tibia and Georgina stops counting, giving herself over to the base and brutal thrill of blunt force. With every jolt of impact, she feels as if she’s pouring pain back into his body, driving grief and guilt further from her mind until nothing exists but flashing silver and black wood and her own white knuckles.

Later – much later – he’ll regain consciousness atop a sodden heap of programs and rat-gnawed popcorn in the theater’s dumpster, bloody and broken and vowing for the sixth time this week to lay off Fernald’s bathtub absinthe, because it is _categorically impossible_ that anything he remembers about last night actually happened. Somewhere in the Hinterlands, Georgina will look out the window of the 11:45 back to Paltryville. As the train barrels through the rainy night along familiar tracks, she’ll take a sip of her coffee and something like a smile will pass over her face.

She hasn’t killed him.

Josephine always despised murder.


End file.
